Chapter Text
“You two seem closer now than ever! What made you two, a pair of childhood rivals become so close?” A reporter asked wide-eyed Charles Leclerc after the podium celebrations at the Monaco Grand Prix with his now close friend, Max Verstappen.
“If I am being honest, you can’t not be close to Max.” Charles said after pondering how best to answer.
The truth was so much deeper than that.
***
Chapter One
Charles Leclerc returned to his driver room after yet another disappointing qualifying. To his dismay, this year did not seem to be his or Ferrari’s year. He had qualified seventh at what he liked to see as his second home Grand Prix as half of the media seems to think that Monaco and France are the same country. And after a disappointing result in Monaco, Charles was okay to have a home race re-do. The fans love him here though and see him as one of their own so he was determined to right his wrongs during the race. Charles Leclerc is always upset to disappoint.
He was hoping somewhere in the 53 lap race he could make it up.
Deciding that wallowing away from his team and the fans was not the answer, Charles grabs his water bottle and makes his way out of the Ferrari garage. He is quickly swept up to media duties to be bombarded with questions about what went wrong this session and how he planned on improving.
This seemed to be the routine this season.
In the middle of his now redundant interview filled with statements about how he needs to do better and hopes to make his way through the grid, Max Verstappen walks by, a media frenzy following.
Max’s season was not the same disappointment as Charles. Max Verstappen was doing what everyone, including Charles, knew what he was meant to do. He was fighting for a championship. Of course this weekend he put it on pole and was sure to convert it to a win, that is unless Lewis Hamilton had anything to do about it. But Charles knew Max, he knew what he was capable of, and he was made to win.
Growing up racing with Max only fed Charles’ love of racing, he assumes that sentiment is shared between them: at least he hopes. Max made him a better driver, but behind the wheel seemed to be where Max belonged. Charles was questioning if it was his place.
He knew this was wrong deep down, he worked so hard to get where he was. But something about seeing Max fighting for a title and on the way to achieving the two’s collective dream planted a seed of doubt in his mind. He was not Max Verstappen, and he did not know if he ever would be.
When Max walked by he gave his childhood rival a little smile. It was easier to be around Max when he was not the one fighting him on track. Max’s temper was known through the paddock, and you did not want to mess with Mad Max. Despite this, Charles never minded. Sure, he had been on the receiving end of his anger more than once, but somehow after making it to where they are today, he seemed to have a shared respect. He admired the Dutch’s passion, he understood it.
Max had seemingly finished his media duties for the day, and soon Charles had too. Being dismissed, the Monegasque driver followed at a distance as they both headed back to their respective garages. He wanted to rush up to Max and congratulate him on a good session, but everyone else already had, Charles was sure of it. His praise probably meant nothing to Max anyways.
Regardless, Charles picked up his pace. He did not know why, but something made him need to talk to Max, tell him how brilliant his lap was, tell him that he was sure to win this race.
Unfortunately, his pace was not enough to catch Max. Funny how that seemed to be true now both on and off track. Max entered the Red Bull garage, but Charles Leclerc was on a mission and he could not be stopped. Max Verstappen was walking back to his driver's room, and throwing caution to the wind, Charles followed. Storming into the Red Bull garage in his scarlet race suit got him more than a few stares, but he did not care.
Max was unaware of Charles following him, so much so that he shut the door to his driver's room, leaving the Ferrari driver standing at the door feeling awkward. Finally, Charles gathered his confidence and knocked slightly at the door. Without a mind of who it may be, Max just yelled “Come in,” and so, Charles entered warily.
“Hi,” was the only word Charles Managed to muster in front of a very confused Max Verstappen.
“What are you doing here, Charles?” The blonde dutchman asked, completely perplexed by Charles’ presence in a rival team's garage.
“I just wanted to say good job, that lap out there was impressive. I mean, beating Lewis in all three sessions today is quite a task. But of course, no one but you.” Charles rambled on, not quite considering the words he was saying due to the uncomfortable situation. Noticing what he said, Charles' face gains a red flush that he hopes the other driver does not notice.
“Thanks, that is very nice to say. I feel like it could have been a text. The team might ask me a lot of questions about why Charles Leclerc was in the Red Bull garage. But nevertheless, thanks.” the Dutch driver says with a small smile, just enough to bring out his smile lines. Smiles lines that made Charles blush more, but he didn’t know why.
“Hey mate, sorry about your session though. It looked rough out there.” Max said after remembering how the Ferrari driver qualified. A measly p7, Max hardly knew a result outside of the podium these days. Charles was embarrassed at the recognition by Max.
“Yeah well, I guess not all of us can be Max Verstappen, huh?” Charles says with a small chuckle to lighten the mood.
Max looks at his feet and subtly shakes his head. “It is not like that at all you know? It is not your fault your team gave you a nearly undrivable car. I wish they would give you something drivable so I could be battling you instead of Lewis, you are more fun to race.” Max says in a characteristically honest fashion.
“Well, thanks. I have never been the driver you are though. You drive that car in a way I have never seen before.” Admittedly, Charles wanted to go into a rant about how watching Max behind the wheel is like watching a masterpiece unfold before your very eyes. About how he was a master at work on track. Not only on track, but he loved the recaps of the race. The way his brain worked. The way he dissected every part of the race. A term coined by fans as ‘Maxplaining.’ Charles bit his tongue and left that bit unsaid.
Max seemed to be overcome with what seemed like frustration. “We are equals. Don’t beat yourself up over your shit car. You have always been my favorite rival, you have always kept me on my toes. You're a good racer, I just hope you get a car to back it up.” Charles wondered how the blonde before him could say things like that so effortlessly. Without any hesitation or awkwardness. Yet another thing about Max that Charles admired. At this point, it seemed like he should keep a running list.
“Thanks Max, I am just frustrated I guess.” Charles said while refusing to look at Max, instead opting for the floor.
Max took a step towards Charles, demanding Charles attention from the tiled floor back up to him. “I would be too, you are far too talented for that tractor and a team that can’t figure out tyre strategy. Just don’t beat yourself up for mistakes that are out of your control.” Charles knew that Max was honest, in some people's opinion too honest. Still, he wanted to chalk this whole thing up to Max lying to make him feel better.
“I should go back to the Ferrari garage.” Charles said before turning to leave. “Exciting to see what you can do tomorrow, seems like this race is already yours. See you tomorrow.”
Before the Ferrari driver can leave, he heard Max call you, “Yeah, see ya!” behind him.
The walk back to his team made his second guess everything he said or did. Why did he do that? Why did he praise Max like he was just his fan? Why did he tell Max about how he beats himself up? Charles wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Despite the promise to see Max tomorrow, Charles felt like he needed to avoid him at all cost.
One question kept plaguing him. Why did he act like that around Max? He never felt the need to congratulate a driver so much on getting pole in a qualifying session, but whenever Max got a good result, it was like the Heavens opened up and poured down on Max. He truly was a thing of wonder.
His mind drifted to Max winning tomorrow. He never looked as radiant as when he was on the top step. Charles knew it was a stretch, but he wanted to share that moment with him.
Shut up brain. Charles thought to himself. What was wrong with him?
***
Unfortunately for Charles, when he got back to his hotel, his mind could not stop racing. He went from his interaction with Max, to admiring him, to questioning why the hell he was thinking this? It was one big loop. If only he could race like his brain was tomorrow his hopes of sharing the podium with his childhood rival tomorrow could come true.
Charles needed a distraction. Luckily for him, both of the Red Bull teams were in the same hotel as Ferrari by some turn of fate. He was going to go harass Pierre.
I mean, that is what best friends are for right?
He just hoped he would not run into Max on the way there.
Charles got up, slipped on his shoes and his Ferrari team jacket and left his room. Wandering the halls of the hotel, it dawned on him that he is in fact stupid, and he did not know what room Pierre was in. He pulled out his phone as he leaned against the wall of the hotel to text Pierre.
Charles Leclerc (20:06)
What is your room number?
Pierre Gasly (20:07)
A hello would be nice.
Charles Leclerc (20:07)
I don’t have time for this.
Pierre Gasly (20:08)
708
And with that, he was off to get his mind off the blonde man plaguing his thoughts.